


Stress Relief

by coveredbyroses



Series: 2019 SPN Kink Bingo [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Tumblr: spnkinkbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 16:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17532191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: The stress of keeping Michael locked away weighs heavy on Dean. You decide to help him out with a little…hands on stress relief. Oh - and it just happens to be his fortieth birthday.





	Stress Relief

The door’s open a crack, just wide enough for you to see him perched on the edge of his bed. He’s facing the wall, hunched over a little, elbows braced against his thighs. The dips and lines of his back are visible underneath the snug fit of his gray henley, and he’s concerningly still…

“Dean?” You’re careful to keep your voice soft as you give the door a light knock.

“Hmm?” He twists around, offers you a tired, closed-lipped smile. “Oh - hey, baby. What’s up?”

You shrug as you step inside, gently pushing the door closed behind you. “Nothin’. Just wanted to see what my birthday boy was up to.” You ease down onto the mattress next to him, head tilted to meet his eyes.

“Oh, y’know,” he says, tries another smile. “Just a nice, relaxing day of an Archangel bangin’ away at my skull.”

You frown at that, knowing full well that it’s only a matter of time before Michael breaks free and takes back control. Dean’s been through a lot, has carried more weight than most will endure their entire lives - but this may be the heaviest cross the hunter has ever had to bear.

“You need to relax, dude. Seriously. You can’t hold him if you run yourself into the ground.”

“Relax?” he chuckles. “This ain’t somethin’ I can treat with fuckin’ meditation.” He shakes his head and heaves a heavy sigh.

Your chest seizes at the pain in his eyes, at the subtle clench of his jaw. Something washes over you; sympathy, compassion…love? You don’t realize you’re leaning in until you feel his scratchy stubble graze your palm as you pull him down to you. His breath is a warm, steady pulse against your mouth as the two of you breathe in the quiet space between you.

You close the distance then, knocking his lips apart with yours so you can lick into his mouth. A low moan bubbles from his throat, and he cups your face in his giant hands as he tastes you back.

Your own hand skims down his chest and stomach to fall on his belt. You break away-

“Um…is this…okay?” Your veins buzz with building excitement, but this isn’t about  _you._ If he doesn’t want it, you’re out.

“Y-yeah,” he manages, voice shaky.  _“God,_  yeah.”

Fire bursts in your belly at his gasped consent, your fingers deftly slipping the worn leather from the metal buckle. Dean leans back to brace himself on his hands, watching as you wrench his jeans open, your palm smoothing over the swollen bulge of his boxers. You feel him twitch under your hand, and it sends a zing of pleasure straight to your cunt. He makes a desperate sound when you dip your hand underneath the fabric to pull him free.

He’s half-hard, but still thick in your grasp. You release him just long enough to lick into your palm before curling your fingers around the hefty base of his shaft. You give him one slow stroke, let yourself feel your hand pass over the ridges of embossed veins winding along the velvety length of him. You quickly find a firm, pumping rhythm, twisting when you reach the head.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach full hardness, and when you tear your eyes from your work, you find his squeezed shut, full lips parted to take in heavy breaths.

Everything is slicking up between your legs as you work him higher, and you’re so empty it aches. You fight to keep from rubbing away your own need, instead opting to cup his swollen balls with your free hand, gently squeezing as you pump-twist faster and faster.

His hips jerk on their own as he absently fucks into your fist, head tipped back to pant at the ceiling. The light catches the sharp line of his scruff-peppered jaw, casts a glowing sheen over his cheekbone, and you idly wonder if he’s aware of his own beauty.

Dean’s grunting now, gasping his warning as he starts to twitch against your palm. You move quickly, kneeling between his spread knees. One hand is braced against his thigh, the other curled around the root of him, you quickly take him into your mouth, sucking him in deep. He makes a choking sound as he curls up into you, shoving himself in deep enough for you to gag. He comes a second later, with a teeth-clenched cry; fingers balling up the blankets in his white-knuckled fists as he spills.

You feel the salty spurts coat your tongue and throat, and eagerly swallow it down as he jerks with the aftershocks. He moans low when you pull off of him, stiffly rising back to a sitting position so he can tuck himself away.

“Damn,” he breathes, face flushed. His jeans are still splayed open; he doesn’t bother fastening himself back up. “That was…unexpected.”

“You were stressed,” you shrug, running a hand through your hair as you reclaim your previous seat next to him. “Besides, it’s your birthday. Did ya really think that blade was your  _only_  gift?”

“Well, I mean, you did have my name engraved,” he says, green eyes teasing. “That’s pretty hard to beat.”

“Surpri-ise,” you sing-song. He smiles a genuine smile for the first time since locking Michael away, and you think you might melt.

“So,” Dean says, grin fading into a playful smirk. “If you’re my gift, when do I get to unwrap it?”

“Well,” you start, checking the time on the clock by his bed, “lucky for you, your birthday doesn’t end for another three hours.”

Dean’s eyes light with a boyish satisfaction. “And here I thought my fortieth was gonna suck.”

“Nope,” you chirp, swinging a leg over his hips to straddle his lap. “That’d be  _my_  job.”


End file.
